


Fall

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than just leaves fall in October.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted October 6, 2003.
> 
> Written for the lovely Shatterglass.

The tang of fall had long since entered the air, and Harry Potter sat beneath an oak tree and closed his eyes against the sun. But closing his eyes didn't shut out the memory of the searingly blue October sky, nor the sound of a group of Slytherins pelting each other with apples that had fallen or been tugged off a nearby tree. He heard yelps of pain as the small, hard things collided with flesh, and the occasional howl countered with cruel laughter as one of them exploded, showering the unlucky target with pulpy, sticky apple bits. Sighing, Harry opened his eyes to see that Blaise Zabini had become the most recent victim. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed while Draco Malfoy smirked and folded his arms across his chest, a portrait of satisfaction. His eyes were bright with exertion, his sleeves rolled up over pale forearms.

Harry lay down and let the sun dapple over him, filtered through the tree limbs. The leaves had lost their green with the advent of chill autumnal air, and formed a reverse carpet of crimson and gold above him. A Gryffindor tree, he mused, smiling a little in spite of himself. His eyes tracked a single leaf, caught on a current of air, as it detached itself from one of the branches and floated to earth, landing on his chest. He didn't move to brush it away.

Ordinarily he looked forward to fall, because fall meant Hogwarts, and Halloween, and cider, and a million other good things. But this year he felt himself growing inexplicably melancholy even on such beautiful days as this. The crackle of leaves underneath his back, rather than enticing him to form a pile to jump in, were a tangible reminder that the world was dying around him—leaves falling, apples rotting sticky-sweet on the ground, plants withering already in early-morning frosts. This was his last year at Hogwarts, he thought; his time here was coming to an end. The war with Voldemort crept ever closer to Hogwarts. Countless wizards and witches already had died, and still more would. Any of his friends might be among them. Harry very probably would be. He crinkled a leaf between his fingers and felt it crack and break apart, crumbling to dust. He closed his eyes again and focused on the spotty warmth of the sun, the low, distant sound of Malfoy's laughter, and dozed.

Some time later, he felt a shadow fall over him, and opened his eyes to find a figure standing above him, silhouetted in the late afternoon sunlight. He realized that the noise of the Slytherins had stopped, and so was not as surprised as he might otherwise have been when the figure addressed him in an all too familiar voice. "What a picture you make, Potter."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Why, only to admire your prone form, of course." He snickered. "This is how it always should be—Potter on the ground at my feet."

"I wouldn't get too used to it, if I were you," Harry replied without heat, sitting up and ruffling a hand through his hair to dislodge the bits of leaves.

Malfoy dropped to one knee next to him, still sneering. "I hadn't thought it was possible for your hair to get any messier than it usually is, but I see you've managed to prove me wrong."

Harry looked at him, then raised an eyebrow. "This is how it should be," he retorted with a small smile, "Malfoy genuflecting to me in the dirt."

Malfoy reddened and scowled, dropping to sit in the dirt and drawing his knees up to his chest. He gazed out over where the lake shimmered in the distance.

Harry watched him with his own frown in place. "Don't you have anyplace better to be, Malfoy?"

He shrugged. "Not particularly."

"So you insist on spoiling my Saturday afternoon."

Another shrug. "Seemed like a plan."

"Why are you here?"

"I like this tree."

Harry gritted his teeth. "You are such an arse, Malfoy."

He started to draw up his legs to leave, when Malfoy's voice taunted softly, "Going to let me drive you from your perch, Potter?"

Harry turned to look at him, the other boy's face impassive except for the almost imperceptible tug of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, his eyes trained on the distant hills. Harry growled and settled back down, wrapping his arms around his knees in an unconscious mirror of Malfoy's pose. Harry watched his profile, but he didn't give any indication that he was aware of being stared at—not a flinch, not a twitch, not even a smirk. Harry frowned at him, so deep in concentration that he jumped when Malfoy said, "A wizarding photograph would last longer."

"And have more movement," Harry muttered.

Malfoy turned to look at him then, and there was a wicked gleam to his eye. "You want movement?" He lunged and, before Harry could move away, had him pinned to the ground, shoulders pressed to the bed of leaves by a pair of surprisingly strong hands. Malfoy sneered down at him. "Where are those famous Seeker reflexes, Potter?"

Harry twisted beneath the hold, but Malfoy's hands stayed firm. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he grunted.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and a corner of his mouth turned up. "Ah," he said softly, "this is how it always should be—Harry Potter thrashing on his back underneath me."

Harry's gaze flew to meet his, eyes wide at the insinuation.

Malfoy leaned closer, and his breath was warm, laced with a peculiar sweetness. "What are you going to say to that, Potter?" Harry closed his eyes against the rush of air, and Malfoy bit his ear.

Harry shoved his palms against him, hard, and Malfoy released him, sitting back on his haunches. "Are you daft?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy only smiled enigmatically as the wind-tossed tree limbs cast patterns of sunlight flickering across his face, now shadowed, now bright. Harry sucked in a breath and leapt to his feet. Malfoy watched him, perplexing smile still in place. "You're a complete nutter," Harry swore, looking down at him.

He stopped himself from taking a step back as Malfoy rose fluidly to his feet, just inches away from him. Malfoy's eyes searched his, and became hooded. He was silent for a few moments, then stepped away. "I am daft," he said. Then, just as abruptly, he stepped forward and pressed his lips to Harry's.

Harry stood frozen in the cool air, the breeze ruffling through his hair, leaves crackling around him, the sun painting patches of warmth along his skin. But he was conscious only of the warm mouth moving against his, the lips dry, teeth sharp, tongue surprisingly tentative. _Apples he tastes like apples_ , Harry thought, dizzy, and delved in. Malfoy gasped into Harry's mouth, then his movements became surer. Harry tasted him without embarrassment, tracing his tongue along the crevices of Malfoy's mouth, savoring the tang of apples that lingered there.

Malfoy drew away, and Harry opened his eyes to stare into Malfoy's, heavy-lidded and wary. "You taste like fall," Harry said.

One corner of Malfoy's mouth quirked upward. "What does fall taste like?"

"Apples," said Harry, "and smoke, and endings."

Malfoy laughed. "Is that good or bad?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't decide."

Malfoy laughed again, a low chuckle. "Let me know when you figure it out, then." He leaned closer, and Harry could smell leaves and other earthy scents. His eyes closed and breath hitched as he waited to be kissed again. Instead, Malfoy's hair tickled his nose as he murmured into Harry's ear, "Time for dinner."

"What?" Harry choked. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the arch of tree limbs above him as the wind caught them and ruffled the tree's remaining leaves. He brushed a stray leaf from where it had landed on his nose, and sat up. The afternoon light had turned gold while he slept, as the sun began to drop toward the crest of hills in the distance, and he could see the remaining Slytherins drawing into a pack to head back to the castle. Malfoy brought up the rear, the waning sunlight gilding his hair and limning his profile. Harry stared, feeling something lurch inside him at the memory of the dream. Malfoy turned and caught him watching, and his lip curled in disdain. Harry remembered the imagined sensation of those lips moving against his, and looked away.

As the group moved back toward Hogwarts, he stood up and felt the breeze swirl the leaves around him. He snagged one out of the air, brilliantly crimson, and twirled it between his fingers, then glanced up again to watch Malfoy round a curve in the path.

Sometimes, Harry mused, feeling that odd shift inside him again, the fall is only the beginning.


End file.
